


Black King, White Tomcat

by somali77



Category: Weiss Kreuz - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 07:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12812715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somali77/pseuds/somali77
Summary: Shortstories about Brad Crawford and Omi Tsukiyono/Mamorou Takatori as a possible (if not really conventional) pairing."After Gluhen, Omi´s lost everything. Weiss, his family, his friends, even his own identity. No wonder his future is painted black... or is it?"





	Black King, White Tomcat

**Author's Note:**

> Possible Spoiler for Gluhen. Takes place during/ after the Gluhen- Arc, right behind the explosion at koua- accademy and the final disbandment of Weiss.

~

Omi- no, Mamorou- he still had trouble remembering that he was supposed to be someone else now- stirred the lukewarm contents of a take-away cup, that resembled sewer spills more than real coffee, with a plastic stick. He lifted his gaze over the hospital bed and out of the window. 

These chairs were miserably uncomfortable to sit on. Maybe he should make a donation to public health care that enabled hospitals to invest in proper cushions for guests, but then again- he didn´t really have any wealth. Nothing he´d really have access to, at least. A small, sad grin made the corners of his mouth twitch and died again. 

„You shouldn´t.“, a deep voice came from the man in the bed, giving him a new focus:  
„Jump, I mean. It´s about three meters... ten feet. That´d not only be melodramatic but pathetic, too. You´d not even break a leg.“

Omi watched the other one thoughtfully without bothering to answer him. 

He studied his face that was seemingly unaffected. Marveled about the way his voice- full of strength and authority- still sounded a little bit strained from injury.  
He also watched him take the white china cup at his bedside table and take a sip from it, frowning deeply in utter disgust. 

„This“, the man stated firmly, „Is liquid sadism.“

 

„It´s camomile tea.“, Omi said. 

 

„Might as well have been holy water“, Crawford growled and put it back.

Omi- no, Mamorou, damnit!- lifted his own cup. 

„Share?“, he suggested. 

With an approving nod, his offer was taken. 

 

„Don´t think ´ bout the kitten anymore“, the man in the bed said to him, contently sipping bad coffee and adjusting the cushion behind his back so he could sit up straighter,  
„Real men don´t cry, you know.“

Their eyes met very shortly. The older man put on a crooked, evil smile. 

„Any one of your... ex- daddys... must have told you so much for sure?“

 

Without his glasses, he looked different, Mamorou thought.  
Younger. 

„Certainly.“, he forced himself to say and cleared his throat.

 

„Here“, the other man said, handling him the half empty wooden box from the bedside table:  
„Have some of your fancy sushi. To celebrate the goddamned day or something.“

Omi shook his head.  
The confusion was still too much. When you cut off a part of yourself, it could still hurt, he´d read in an online article once. Phantom pain. 

The other man shrugged his shoulders and popped a piece in his mouth. 

The next second he was coughing, tearing up and almost dropping the box with all it´s contents. He downed the rest of the coffee, sniffeling, dabbing at his eyes: 

„Goddamn wasabi!“, he sweared. 

Omi- definitely not Mamorou this time- smiled.  
Just for a second and without much energy, but he could feel the trickle of warmth seeping through, as far as into his fingers.

„Real men don´t cry, Mister Crawford“, he said softly. 

 

This was the first time when his fate to be a born Takatori seemed to loose a bit of it´s tragedy. 

 

~


End file.
